


The Ashtray

by dreadpiratewatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson is Perfect, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, No Mary Morstan, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Feels, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9054907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadpiratewatson/pseuds/dreadpiratewatson
Summary: Slowly, John begins to carefully tear at the wrapping paper on the gift, and pulls out a small, but beautifully decorated glass ashtray that he recognizes in an instant. His eyebrows furrow, and he gives Sherlock a strange look. “Is this… Is this the one from…” Sherlock nods, not taking his eyes off of the ashtray he stole from Buckingham Palace what seemed like a hundred years ago, simply just because it made John laugh. “I know that I’m not really good at this whole thing, but you were the greatest thing to ever happen to me, and I just want to say that no matter what happens, I’m still here. Even if all you need is someone to do something stupid with, or if you just need someone to make you laugh by refusing to wear pants, or stealing an ashtray from Buckingham Palace. I’m still here.” Or, Sherlock brings John a Christmas present on Christmas Eve, and fluff and kisses ensues. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you. <3





	

**Author's Note:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS/HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! 
> 
> I warn you, I wrote this at two in the morning, so any mistakes are my own! 
> 
> I also know that I have been neglecting to write ANYTHING for a while, and I got this really cute idea for a fic at one am, so I decided to write it for you as a Christmas present!! It's very short and it's definitely not great, but I do hope you enjoy it!! 
> 
> I also just want to say that I hope all of you are surrounded by supportive, amazing people who love you wholeheartedly and unconditionally. For those of you who have a hard time with Christmas and the holiday season, I want you all to know that you are loved, you are valid, and that it's all going to be okay. I hope you have a great night, and a wonderful day. Eat lots of food, get lots of rest, stay hydrated, and remember to breathe. <3 
> 
> -Stevie

It’s nearly midnight Sherlock Holmes finally gets the courage to knock on John Watson’s front door. Snow is falling delicately on the streets, and a gentle, icy wind is blowing, but all in all, it’s a peaceful night, perfect for Christmas Eve. 

After a few anxiety ridden seconds of waiting, Sherlock debates whether or not just to leave the gift he’s brought for John on the doorstep and leave, or to wait, but, eventually, the door opens, and John steps out. The dim porch light illuminates his face in soft orange light, hitting his eyes just right so that when he looks up at Sherlock, they almost seem to sparkle, and it causes an ache to form in the detective’s chest. 

At first, he expects John to be irritated at his turning up so late on Christmas Eve, but, the doctor breaks out into a breathtaking smile instead. “Sherlock! Hi!” He says excitedly. “What are you doing here?” 

Swallowing hard, Sherlock hold up the small, delicately wrapped present he had brought for John. “I um… I wanted to drop off your Christmas present.” He says quietly, feeling nervous all of a sudden. 

John looks down at the gift, and shakes his head. “You came all the way over here at midnight to bring me a gift? You know we’re seeing each other tomorrow, yeah?” He asks, though he sounds amused instead of annoyed. 

“I know, I just… I just thought that… Since it’s Christmas…” Sherlock is failing miserably at being articulate, he knows it, and it’s only making the heat rise in his cheeks. 

The doctor laughs, and steps out of his way. “Get in here.” 

Without thinking twice about it, Sherlock steps through the threshold, into John’s front hall, and looks around. It’s been awhile since he’s been in John and Mary’s house. He tries to avoid it, if he’s honest. Makes everything easier. 

He follows John into the lounge, and they both sit down. Sherlock feels out of place in the light blue room, but John seems to be unaware of the fact, and goes to the fireplace where a decanter of whiskey is sitting, and pours two glasses. “How’ve you been? I know it’s been difficult to catch up with Rosie in the picture now.” 

Sherlock clears his throat. “I’ve been… fine. Chasing down Moriarty leads, same as always.” He hates the small talk. He hates the way John says  _ catch up  _ like they’re a couple of old women. 

“Oh? Anything new to report?” 

“Not really. He’s playing games. It’s annoying.” 

John snickers as he turns to hand Sherlock his glass. “Well, he’ll get bored of games eventually, and then, we’ll catch him.” 

_ Like there’s a ‘we’ anymore.  _ Sherlock thinks, but chooses not to say out loud. “How’s married life?” He asks, just to change the subject. 

Something in John’s demeanor immediately changes, and his smile falters for only a moment. “Oh, good. Um.. Yeah. Really good. Yeah.” 

Sherlock blinks, and tries to pretend that he doesn’t see the empty space on John’s finger where his wedding ring should be. He nods, and drops his eyes. “Good.” 

The air suddenly becomes very tense as the words linger. Sherlock knows that John saw him looking at his hand. John notices everything. “She isn’t here.” John says, very matter-of-factly. She said she’s staying with an aunt or a cousin or someone like that for Christmas. I decided not to go, so I’ve got Rosie for a while.” He pauses, looking less broken up about it than anyone else in his situation would generally look. “We’ve been working through things, but, y’know how it goes.” 

Sherlock considers this, sees the hollow look in John’s eyes, and bites at the inside of his lip. “She’s not coming back.” He says, and it’s not a question. 

He shakes his head, then gazes towards Rosie’s room. “No, probably not.” 

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock says. And he means it; he really does. Despite being completely and utterly in love with John Watson, he doesn’t like to know that his marriage has fallen apart. He cares more about John’s happiness than he does anything else in the world.. 

John shrugs it off. “You can’t fix something that doesn’t want to be fixed.” He says. 

Sherlock’s heart aches at that for some reason. He isn’t quite sure why. Maybe because he still feels guilty for leaving John for two years, and because he knows that John still has issues trusting him sometimes. Their relationship changed after Sherlock came back. Before then, Sherlock believed that John had  _ some  _ sort of feelings for him; what with all of their playful banter and all that, then Sherlock left for two years, and now… They’re still John and Sherlock, sure, but Sherlock would give anything to have the same relationship with John that he had had back then. He knows that he can’t fix it, deep down. 

John clears his throat. “Sorry. It’s Christmas, I shouldn’t be…” 

“I don’t mind.” Sherlock reassures him quickly. “Besides, it’s Christmas Eve. You can be as miserable as you want.”

The doctor seems to accept that as gospel, and laughs. “Speaking of Christmas, I’m interested to see what sort of present is important enough to be brought over at nearly midnight on Christmas Eve.” He’s teasing again, and it makes Sherlock’s stomach flip. 

Sherlock blushes deeply, and squeezes the gift in his hand, feeling the wrapping paper crinkle. “It’s not… important. I just… I just forgot to bring it earlier in the week, and I probably could have waited until morning, but I was up and-”

“Sherlock.” John interrupts. “It’s alright. I’m just teasing. I don’t mind.” 

The detective nods, and carefully holds out the gift for John to take. 

John flips it over in his hands, and gives Sherlock a smirk. “I don’t think that opening just  _ one  _ gift on Christmas Eve is a bad thing. Do you?” 

“Not at all.” 

Slowly, John begins to carefully tear at the wrapping paper on the gift, and pulls out a small, but beautifully decorated glass ashtray that he recognizes in an instant. His eyebrows furrow, and he gives Sherlock a strange look. “Is this… Is this the one from…” 

Sherlock nods, not taking his eyes off of the ashtray he stole from Buckingham Palace what seemed like a hundred years ago, simply just because it made John laugh. “I know that I’m not really good at this whole thing, but you were the greatest thing to ever happen to me, and I just want to say that no matter what happens, I’m still here. Even if all you need is someone to do something stupid with, or if you just need someone to make you laugh by refusing to wear pants, or stealing an ashtray from Buckingham Palace. I’m still here.” He knows his face is probably bright red by now, but he gets his words out, and the bubbling excitement and nervousness while he awaits John’s reaction afterwards is almost too much. 

He hears a laugh bubble up from John’s chest, and he looks up to find the man he considers his best friend (and the love of his life), looking at Sherlock like he put the stars in the sky and laughing like an idiot. “And you say that you aren’t sentimental.” He replies jokingly, but with a certain tightness in his throat that sounds like the sudden appearance of tears. 

Sherlock laughs breathlessly. “I try not to be.” 

A warm hand finds it’s way onto his knee, just like it did on John’s stag night, but this time, instead of it being just a drunken mishap, it’s intentional. John’s hand is warm and comforting against his knee, and for a second, he thinks he feels John’s thumb stroking downward, but he tries not to dwell on it. “I’m still here too, you know.” 

The detective’s heart stutters. 

“I know it’s been difficult with this whole Mary thing and now Rosie, but… I’m still here too, Sherlock. I always have been.” 

“But, I haven’t always been here for you.” 

John’s expression hardens, and his hand moves from Sherlock’s knee to his wrist, right above his pulse point, and there is no way that John didn’t feel his heartbeat jump. “I forgave you for that a long time ago, Sherlock.” 

“But, that doesn’t fix everything. This is just me promising that it’ll never happen again.” 

“I believe you.” 

Sherlock’s eyes lock with John’s, and he suddenly realizes how close they’ve become while talking. All he’d have to do is lean forward if he wanted to kiss him. He glances down at their hands that have basically become intertwined, and he shakes his head. “What are we doing, John?” He asks carefully. 

The doctor shrugs. “I haven’t the faintest idea.” He leans forward then, and now, he’s only just a few inches from Sherlock. “But, isn’t that the best part?” 

“You’re still married.” He notes, although he’d love to forget about it. 

“I’m about as married as you are.” 

“My work is important.” 

John throws his head back with a laugh, then quickly covers his mouth as to not wake the baby. Sherlock can’t help but laugh too. He’s missed this. 

“Oh, god.” John breathes once he’s stopped giggling. “You really are a stubborn berk, aren’t you?” 

Sherlock shrugs indifferently. “I’m as stubborn as you are.” 

John scoffs, shakes his head, then, as if he couldn’t possibly hold back any longer, he reaches out, curls his hand around Sherlock’s neck like he did at the wedding, and pulls him in for an unexpected kiss. Sherlock sighs into it, though his heart is in his throat, and he buries his fingers in the man’s shirt as he tries desperately to get close to John. He has no idea where this kiss came from, but he loves it, and loves John, and  _ Jesus Christ  _ he’s finally kissing John Watson like he’s wanted to do for years, and nothing has ever felt this good. 

They pull away from one another, and let the moment sink in. After years and year of pining, broken promises and frankly  _ horrid  _ communication skills, they’ve actually kissed. And all it took was a goddamn ashtray. 

“Did you know I was going to do that?” John asks in his softest voice. 

Sherlock shakes his head. “I don’t know everything, John. According to you, I’m terrible at anything that has to do with love.” He teases. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” John replies smugly. “From this angle, you look like an expert.” 

The detective laughs, and pulls John in for another kiss. There’s no urgency, just soft lips that taste of wine and that are curled into smiles. He knows that they’ll have to talk about it later, but for now, he knows that people have kissed for less, and it is Christmas after all. 

Outside, you can the clock as midnight strikes and Christmas morning begins with a kiss and snowfall outside. The two men pull apart, but do not let go of each other for even a second.

“Merry Christmas, John.” Sherlock whispers. 

“Merry Christmas, love.” 


End file.
